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CHAPTER XII
Carl Aboard the Biplane

There is a very old and no doubt true saying that everything comes to those who wait, and Mr. Carl Reitberg may be said to have been one of these fortunate individuals. For all that he desired seemed to be about to be consummated.

"At last! A brilliant inspiration, really," he was telling himself almost at the identical moment when Joe Gresson set out from the great airship with the Major, the Colonel, and Dick, and swooped into space upon his wonderful biplane. "A really brilliant inspiration. Here have I been thinking and bothering and cudgelling my brains for a means to – to – er – well, to put a stop to what might well be an astounding triumph for that Andrew Provost and his conceited nephew, when a sudden thought strikes me, all difficulties are cleared away, and the future becomes rosy."

The stout, roundabout figure of this little man who spoke English with an accent, who loved the freedom, the customs, and the institutions of Great Britain, and who had waxed rich and prosperous because of the protection and many opportunities which the country or her possessions had given him, rolled round in the deep armchair in which he was seated, while his hand groped for a cut-glass tumbler standing on an adjacent table. The deep-set, cunning eyes saw none of the surrounding magnificence which the walls of his smoking-room displayed; for Mr. Carl Reitberg was deeply immersed, lost in thought, carried away by the brilliance of his inspiration.

"Yes," he reflected again, "a brilliant inspiration. Here was I in London – or rather, to put it correctly, here am I in London – hearing on every side tales of the airship, of her strength, of her swiftness, of her original design, capacity, and extraordinary power; and yet there is no way of moving, no means of arresting the world tour of the air vessel, no method of – er – er causing an unfortunate accident Then, when all seems to have gone badly for me, when, owing to my own stupid impulse, my desire to be applauded as a sportsman, the bank holds one hundred thousand pounds which I have deposited, without power of withdrawal, against the day when the ship returns, then, I say, difficulties suddenly fly. It is strange how a man's brain at last hits upon a solution."

In his delight he had begun to speak aloud, addressing his words to the four walls of the room, to the costly pictures attached to them, to the velvet curtains, the cigar cabinets, the table loaded with bric-à-brac, and to curios and valuables in general. In any case he had not included the only other occupant of the room, had never once turned his eyes in his direction, had seemed to have forgotten him utterly. But the man there, lounging placidly in a deep and luxurious armchair, smiling sardonically, and nursing a damaged arm which he wore in a sling, was listening intently. Once he scowled and growled something beneath his breath. And now that Carl Reitberg seemed to have finished he stole a look at him, and leaned over and coolly helped himself to a cigar which, by the breadth of the gilded band about it, might have cost a small fortune.

"A brilliant inspiration, eh?" he asked languidly, settling himself back in his chair when he had set his cigar going. "What?"

The words brought his host back to Mother Earth with a start. To speak the truth there was no love lost between Carl Reitberg and Adolf Fruhmann, for that rascal was the other inmate of this room. The pompous little owner of this magnificent establishment would have ignored his one-time accomplice had he not need of him. Now he put up with his presence as best he could. Not that Adolf Fruhmann was of much value at the moment; for an accident in the streets had left him with a broken arm, much to Carl's annoyance.

"That's what I was telling you," he answered savagely. "Here are you fool enough to get an arm broken, thereby rendering yourself helpless when it was a matter of arrangement between us that you were to act – "

"One moment; not so fast," came from the other. "You speak as if I'd asked that taxi driver to run me down, as if I enjoyed the suffering that's followed. Besides, if I'm helpless for the moment, and you've been fool enough to plant a hundred thousand pounds into a bank in such a way that you can't finger it till this challenge is settled, why, it's for you to move, you to risk your own skin, I'm thinking."

Certainly there was no love lost between them, and if Carl imagined that Adolf would cringe and whine when in his presence, the events of the past few days had entirely undeceived him. For Adolf had become a leech, a detestable fellow who clung to the man who desired to employ him. From that squalid tenement dwelling down by Whitechapel, he had removed himself to Carl Reitberg's luxurious mansion, and protest on that indignant gentleman's part had no effect.

"We've just got to sink or swim together," observed Adolf, with a scornful smile when his would-be benefactor flared out at him and bade him depart. "We're old chums, don't forget that, old partners, and – and there's a few who would like very much – very much indeed – to meet us."

It was a significant statement, and Adolf took no trouble to rob his words of the sinister threat which underlay them. From the meek, half-starved, down-at-heels ruffian, he had of a sudden, once he had been discovered by Carl, become a sleek, sardonic individual, sleeker perhaps for the fact that the best of London tailoring had turned him out in the latest of fashions. Indeed, in the well-dressed, or rather, somewhat over-dressed individual lolling in the deep armchair in Carl's room, it was hard to recognize the unkempt, unwashed rascal of but a few days earlier.

And his benefactor was helpless. As Carl lay back watching his accomplice through half-closed lids, he was bound to admit that here was one item in which his scheme of attacking Andrew Provost had miscarried. Adolf Fruhmann had got disgracefully out of hand, and was almost unmanageable. He had picked him out of the gutter merely for a purpose, and knowing that for gold this rascal would do almost anything. And now he was actually afraid of the man, dared not order him away, was fearful that a word from him might jeopardize his, Carl Reitberg's own position.

"Well, I suppose I shall have to put up with the nuisance," he reflected, as he scowled at his companion. "After all, it will not be for long, and later, when I have made use of him, why there are ways of ridding oneself of a nuisance. Now," he said aloud, "you were asking about this brilliant inspiration."

"I am incredulous. Carl Reitberg with an inspiration worth hearing of!"

The man was positively offensive, and caused the fat and pompous Carl to squirm, while the ferrety little eyes, sunk behind their lashes, positively glared at the rascal who had spoken.

"Well, let us hear it," said Adolf flippantly, flicking his cigar ash with one finger, and inspecting the glowing end with every sign of approval. "Carl Reitberg has an inspiration; his friends long to hear all about it."

"It is about the airship," began Carl, ignoring the man's words, though his cheeks were purple.

"It always is," came the retort. "You dream of the thing; you think of it by day and night. That hundred thousand pounds weighs as heavily as a ton of lead."

"And rightly so," Carl answered sharply. "I was deluded, I say. I had no idea that this Joe Gresson could succeed in his undertaking, I – "

"Exactly," came the dry answer. "If you had been fully awake you'd never have issued that challenge. You were too cocksure, Carl. You put down that money feeling that it was safe. Now you're doubtful. So am I. You'll lose it if all that the papers report is correct. Just fancy! the ship sails across to Adrianople quicker than an aeroplane could take you. She hovers over the city. She rises and falls and disappears at will. Then she heads back for England, while her wireless tells The Daily Flier all the news. If that hundred thousand pounds were mine – and some of it will be according to our agreement – why, I'd begin to get fidgety. I'd begin to dream and seek for inspirations. Well, what's yours?"

"I use the wireless also. I call up the ship. I follow the idea of behaving as a sportsman."

"Ah!" Adolf smiled satirically. "That cost a heap!" he said. "Well?"

"I ask to be taken aboard for this world trip. Can they refuse me?"

It was his companion's turn to show some irritation. If Carl Reitberg had the intention of accompanying the great airship on her voyage, then it could be with one object, for there were no secrets between these two rascals. He desired to gain access to the ship with the sole idea of wrecking or damaging it. Very good, that! Crafty! Quite commendable.

"But there's myself to be considered. If he succeeds, what do I get? Where is the reward promised?"

The ruffian eyed Carl with undisguised contempt, and yet half fearfully.

"Clever idea, very," he said aloud. "You go aboard for the trip. There is, perhaps, an accident. Unfortunate, of course, but – er – necessary. You are as sorry as the others. You express a thousand regrets – but all the while you are laughing in your sleeve. You are really thinking of something far harder to give than regrets; you are thinking of your one hundred thousand pounds, eh, my friend? That is, I think, the beginning and end of the inspiration."

It was so obvious that Adolf admired the craftiness of the scheme that Carl almost forgave him. But the next few seconds undeceived him, and reminded the magnate of the fact that he had others to consider.

"Of course," said Adolf slowly, "our bargain holds good. If – if there is an unfortunate accident, and the voyage of the airship is arrested, you return and pay me the sum promised."

"But – " cried Carl indignantly, his fat cheeks swelling.

"There are no buts in the matter. I am paid, or I blab. I have a long memory, and there are other things I can mention. No, friend Carl, we swim or sink together, as I have said. You leave England. Good! I look after your house, your servants, and your interests during your absence. Supposing you fail – supposing this – er – accident doesn't happen, then you fall back on your dear friend. I seek for an inspiration. I attempt another accident. In either case, if you are successful, or if the honour falls to me, our bargain holds, I am paid what was promised."

It was a sordid business; but no doubt there are other rascals of the same kidney haggling over even less unsavoury schemes in the great city of London. But this was evident, Carl was in a corner, hoist as it were by the very rascal he had hoped to use merely as a tool, and then to throw away when no longer useful. It was a bitter blow, but to be endured, and he must not allow it to prevent his following the line of action he had suddenly decided on. He gulped down the contents of his tumbler, scowled at his companion, and then stretched out for the telephone receiver. A moment later he was dictating a telegram to be dispatched by wireless to the great airship.

"Mr. Carl Reitberg presents his warmest congratulations to Mr. Andrew Provost and his clever nephew, and asks to be allowed to accompany the party aboard the airship during some part of their world trip. Wire place at which ship could call."

Down in the depths of the airship, in the Marconi operator's cabin, the operator was busily employed some few minutes later, while the aerials above flashed in the sun and clicked in their own extraordinary fashion. Then a paper was thrust into Andrew's hand as he paced the deck arm in arm with the Commander.

"Umph!" he said, handing it to the naval officer. "Rather spoil the fun of the party. I ain't too fond of Mr. Carl Reitberg."

"But it's sporting of him, eh?" reflected the officer, now rapidly recovering.

"Sporting? Er – yes – that's what he aims at particularly. Sad if he were to spoil also the ship's chances."

"But surely that's impossible – one man spoil the chances of the ship's success!"

"Well, perhaps I'm unduly suspicious. Carton, wire back that we shall be pleased to receive him, and that Joe Gresson will call for him in London. Then call up Joe. He's well within range of the ship's wireless, and repeat the message."

And thus it followed that while Joe, with the Major and Colonel and the derelict Frenchman on board, were coasting towards England, having once demonstrated to our friends the security of the biplane, the aerials aboard that wonderful machine clicked, while the receiver told out its message. An hour later, perhaps, while Carl Reitberg was snoring in his luxurious chair, the telephone summoned him from slumber.

"Be ready to start to-morrow morning early. Joe Gresson will call for you. Warm welcome awaits you aboard the great airship."

Carl simpered. His pig-like eyes lit up wonderfully, and for one brief moment he wore the appearance he had borne when Joe first met him aboard the Hamburg-Amerika liner. He was positively genial, and any old lady of a credulous disposition happening to observe him at that moment would have set him down definitely as a most engaging, kind-hearted, and simple gentleman. And so he could have been, had he not at heart been a scheming rascal. For Carl Reitberg was that. If he had been a patriot, if he had belonged to some other country than England, and for her sake had decided to destroy the airship with her crew, we would have recorded the fact plainly. But Carl had no country, not even that of England, which had fostered him, protected him, even innocently aided him in some of his rascally schemes. His scheme was merely for personal objects, to save his pocket, to win a challenge, to defeat Andrew Provost and Joe Gresson, and all the while appear in the public eye as a sportsman, something understood by the people and sure to make him wonderfully popular.

The hours that followed were busy ones indeed for Carl, and Adolf Fruhmann aided him wonderfully in spite of a damaged arm. They retreated to a garret in a street off Soho, where they remained till day was almost dawning. Nor did they present themselves at the place as Carl Reitberg and Adolf Fruhmann respectively. No; they went disguised, using false names also. What passed in that garret we need not enquire into; but this is certain: when the two rogues finally left and drove away in a taxi, there was a suspicious square box beside them.

"Gently, gently! You carry it," suggested Carl, as they stepped out of the cab and walked away.

"Very well; I'm not afraid if you are. The things are safe till you begin to tamper with them. Then – "

Adolf raised his eyes expressively and sniggered. "Then there's an end to you and – and the airship," he giggled.

"H-hush, man! Are you a fool? Here! Step into this cab. We can drive straight home now, I think."

They had dived into a side street for a moment, where they had rapidly removed the beards which had disguised them. Now they hailed a taxi, entered, and boldly told the man to drive to Carl's address. The following morning found the chief of these two rascals dressed for an outing. An immaculate knickerbocker suit clad his rotund proportions, while the monocle he – like the gallant Colonel – affected transformed him into an object such as one sees at St. Moritz, one of the band of heroes who go to look on at somewhat hazardous winter sports and continue always to look on only.

Buzz! The telephone called him. They were speaking from his office in the city, to which all telegrams were sent. "What's that?" demanded Carl incredulously, when he had listened to the message. "Eh! I am to drive out to Hendon, where Mr. Gresson will pick me up? Where's the airship?"

"Somewhere above Italy," came the answer. "Mr. Gresson arrived yesterday evening in an aeroplane."

"An aeroplane! But – but – surely he doesn't expect me to – to travel in such a thing with him!" cried Carl tremulously, much to Adolfs amusement and ill-concealed contempt.

"Why not?" he asked. "You've asked to go on a flying trip. Where's the difference between a ship and plane? Pooh! You're a sportsman, aren't you? Then you've got to show spirit."

But that was just precisely the virtue of which Carl was most deficient. He could ape the sportsman, providing no physical display of courage were wanted. He could even venture a trip in the airship, knowing now from excited reports from all quarters that she was the last word in such matters; and when the time came, and the moment were opportune, he told himself he had the nerve to place that curious box he had just procured in the most advantageous position, set its contents going, and then decamp. Oh, yes, he would decamp, quickly too, to be sure! Why not? That would merely be discretion.

"Supposing there was an accident?" he suddenly blurted out, his face fallen, his features as long as a fiddle. "Supposing the box were overturned! Besides, I've never been in an aeroplane. Hundreds of men have lost their lives when flying."

"A noble end for a sportsman, truly," grinned Adolf. "Let me go, then? A broken arm will not prevent my acting."

"No; I'll take train to Turin. I could be there as soon as this aeroplane," he said, almost tearfully. "Are you there? Why don't you stay at the telephone? Is Mr. Joe Gresson at the office?"

It was that young inventor himself who answered.

"Good morning!" he said curtly enough. "Glad you are coming. We leave in two hours' time."

"But – but I am detained," cried Carl desperately. "I cannot leave then. I will catch the midday continental express and go to Turin. I shall be there to-morrow evening."

"While we shall be beyond that city this afternoon," came the curt answer. "We must not delay longer, for though I calculate that the airship could circle the twenty-five thousand and odd miles which a trip round the world comprises in some seventeen to twenty days, yet there may be breakdowns – "

"Ah, yes, certainly! I hope not," said Carl swiftly.

"That's nice of you. But there may be, while we may desire to deviate a little. Indeed our trip will not take us along a straight line. We propose to take an oblique course, and therefore must make the most of every day that remains to us. Therefore we leave Hendon almost immediately."

"And pass Turin before the evening!" cried Carl aghast. Such rapid travel spelled catastrophy to him. "I – I – do you expect an accident?"

"An accident?"

"Yes; to your machine. Aeroplanes are notoriously dangerous. I – I – really think that I'll not – "

"Sorry, Mr. Reitberg," came Joe's curt answer. "But we must push ahead. If you wish to join us at all you must come now, and on the biplane."

The pompous city magnate put the telephone down with something approaching a groan. Indeed, his features were positively haggard, his fat cheeks hung flaccid, his mouth drooped, his eyes were bloodshot. He might, indeed, have been a condemned criminal. And then Adolf's sneering laughter stung him to some show of courage, or perhaps it was desperation.

"It is the only, the last chance," he said. "I'll go. I'll risk travel in this abominable machine. Herman!"

He tugged at the bell and shouted for his butler.

"Call the car round," he ordered magnificently. "Put my baggage on board, and – er – please be careful of this box. It's very valuable."

"In fact, there is glass inside, old curios," added Adolf, guffawing as the man shut the door behind him. "Curios for dear Andrew Provost. A present from London city to the great airship! A token of love and esteem from Carl Reitberg."

The ruffian was a humorous fellow at times, and his cynical mind often perceived a vein of fun where others saw nothing. His confederate's nervousness, the dilemma into which he had managed to introduce himself in his efforts to get aboard the airship provided Adolf with a vast amount of amusement, and he was sniggering still when his friend marched ponderously out of the establishment.

"Bon voyage!" called Adolf after him, as he stood on the steps of the gorgeous mansion, his undamaged arm tucked beneath his coat tails, a cigar of Carl's most expensive brand between his teeth, and a smile wrinkling his somewhat sardonic features. "Bon voyage! Have no fears. I'll look after things in your absence."

But oh that voyage! Oh the terror before starting! Carl Reitberg, sportsman, cut but a sorry figure as he shook Joe's honest hand and clambered into the cab of the biplane.

"But – but you'll never venture to rise above the ground in this?" he cried aghast. "It's not even made of steel or wood. It's transparent stuff, and looks frightfully fragile."

"Try it," grinned Dick, who was one of the party. "Ask Alec to jump on the wings, or – oh, I know, Mr. Reitberg, try a ride on one yourself! It'd be a ripping sensation to lie out there on one of the planes while she was soaring."

"Brat! Conceited young midshipman! Wants kicking!" Carl thought angrily. "But if they've come all the way from the neighbourhood of Adrianople, why, I suppose the machine is strong enough. Horrible it seems to me! But I must screw up my courage. Ah! He's started his engine. Why couldn't he wait a little longer till I'd settled down. Stay still there, young man. We're moving, and if you get too much to one side the thing will capsize once we're off the ground."

Alec regarded the trembling magnate with a pitying smile, though quite politely. "Oh, that's with ordinary aeroplanes, sir," he said loftily. "You can't upset this. You ask Joe. We'll try, just to impress you."

"Try to upset the machine when in the air! Madness!" Carl positively scowled at Alec, and then at Dick, catching him grinning. Then his attention was called elsewhere. Joe shut down his bypass valve abruptly. The propellers roared. The biplane shot forward and mounted into the air as if eager for a struggle. They were up a hundred yards before their passenger had had time to fasten his grip quite to his own liking on the edge of the cab. Then Joe banked her.

"Put me down!" roared Carl, scared out of his senses, for the machine had tilted, and from his own position he could look direct to the ground beneath. He felt the machine slipping bodily sideways.

"Got in an air hole," observed Joe calmly. "Skidding a trifle. But she can't go far. The cross sections between the planes hold her up nicely. Up we go again, turning all the time. Hold on for a moment."

It was truly a terrifying experience for Carl, and he never quite became accustomed to this new form of locomotion. Even when Joe, having elevated the machine to the height of ten thousand feet, set the automatic gear in motion, and, lighting a cigarette in the shelter of the cab, went to chat with the Major, the magnate felt far from happy.

"But – but," he quavered, "leave the steering gear! Who, then, controls this machine? What is to prevent us being dashed to pieces?"

"Atoms, rather," suggested Dick, always ready with something likely to improve the occasion.

"Eh?" asked Carl.

"You said pieces," grinned the midshipman. "We're ten thousand feet up. We wouldn't make jelly even if we fell. We'd be smashed to atoms."

"Horrible! Loathsome young fool!" thought Carl, groaning at the mere mention of such an ending. "Anything will be more pleasant than this. When will this awful trip be over?"

Flying steadily at over one hundred miles an hour it can be reckoned that the biplane soon swallowed up distance. In fact, late that afternoon she was over Italy, while an hour afterwards she swooped out over the Adriatic Sea, where she sighted the airship. Not that the latter was easily visible. But a practised eye could make her out.

"See – the airship," said the Major, pointing towards her for Carl's benefit.

"Ah! Yes. Then we sink to the water?"

"No – we swoop towards her and land on her deck."

"In midair! Is it – is it really safe?" asked this nervous passenger.

"As houses," interjected Dick. "Hold on, sir! Don't speak to Joe, or he might make an error and drop us over the edge."

It was a huge, if unkind, joke to watch the twitching face of the magnate, and, as is often enough the way of youth, Dick and Alec enjoyed Carl's discomfiture immensely. But they were near the ship now. Joe sent his biplane higher, till she was two thousand feet above the air vessel. Then he banked, banked till the machine looked as if she would turn turtle. But there was a master man at the controls, and at once the biplane dived downward, curling spirally, with her engine stopped, till she looked as if she would drop through the heart of the ship below her. Then the engine hummed, the propellers revolved, the biplane righted, dived swiftly, rose a yard or two, and then dropped without a quiver on the broad back waiting to receive her.

"Welcome!" said Mr. Andrew Provost, accosting the party, and helping Carl Reitberg to alight. "Welcome to the ship which by your own challenge you yourself helped to erect."

He led him to the lift, escorted him down to the gallery below, and showed him his cabin. In fact, Andrew did all that a host who is a gentleman could do for a guest. He didn't like Mr. Reitberg; he made no pretence of doing so. He was polite as a matter of course, and because it was good manners. But whatever he thought of this stout little magnate, indeed, whether he suspected the true depths of his sporting instincts, Andrew never imagined that he had just welcomed a crafty ruffian, a schemer, a mean-hearted man who, now that he was safely aboard, would leave no stone unturned till he had wrecked the vessel. As for Carl, he sat himself down by that precious box of his and mopped his forehead.

"I've put up with a heap," he said. "Now my time's coming."